My Way
by PsyBomb
Summary: From the life of the Troll Rogue Vivir. A series of short scenes, telling his tales.
1. Chapter 1

_It was always in Vivir's nature to constantly review and relive the events of the recent and distant past, and as he lay recovering in Kargath he had little else to do._

The dwarf spat some words at me. I don't know what he said, nor do I care all that much. All I know is that we were alone in that room, he carried the key to a certain vault, and wasn't decent enough to ignore me while I relieved him of it. Then again, in finding me, he passed my first test. He'd caught me doing what I do, I hadn't gone unnoticed. This is when his axe came out, along with my own twin blades. Now that I think about it, he didn't really call for help. Dunno if it was stupidity or arrogance, but I wouldn't be surprised either way.

_A cough and an immediate wince. Though the outcome of the fight was not in dispute, the little details of it were nowhere near as clean as he liked._

I fight an awful lot like I dance: plenty of movement, showy, hitting the highlights and leading my audience to do just what I want, to feel just what I want. It was unfortunate for this dwarf that the feeling I wanted in him was that of my sword and dagger biting flesh. It had all proceeded like a dance in which both sides knew all the steps. Thrust, parry, dodge, and slash, nether party recieving more than superficial wounds to begin with.

_Vivir grinned his usual mischievous grin at this point. Just like his dancing, there was always more than one goal to every step. In this case, there were three._

Blood had started to flow on both ends of the fight, but the dwarf was probably wondering at this point why his axe seemed so heavy in his hand, why the nicks and scratches he'd recieved burned like they did. Then, as the dance begins to conclude, his eyes widen as he realizes just what I did to him. Not one, but two separate poisons now coursed through his veins, slowing him down and ebbing away at his ability to fight, in addition to the bloody little scratches and cuts.

_His eyes grew dim. At this point, the great performance had gone astray, the preparations not quite enough to seal the deal._

Just as he noticed the first and second acts to my attack, he realizes that the third was yet to come, that he'd failed my second test. He would not survive this match, I had beaten him face to face. As I swept into the final move, the one which I had been setting up for the entire battle, he lined one up of his own and let fly. Unable any longer to use finesse, he opted instead for the dervish approach. Even as my sword, given to me by a grateful client in Hammerfall, nearly clove him in two, his axe swept into an insane arc, planting itself firmly in the meat below the left side of my ribcage, just above the kidney. With this final move, he finally yelled a mix of pain, rage and desperation. It would have taken a deaf man to miss his cry, and a dumb one not to notice the voices suddenly coming from just outside of the one door.

_Vivir's right hand moved to cover the wound as he remembered the pain of recieving it. He'd had just enough time to retrieve the key and hide in a barrel before reinforcements had arrived. The barrel turned out to not be quite empty, and though the whiskey burned like hellfire in his wound, its presence helped keep it clean while he'd performed what first aid he could._

Compared to all of that, the escape was almost pathetically easy. The vault supposedly containing a Darkspear ritual mask taken from one of our priests turned out to be holding a Gurubashi one, similar in appearance to an outsider but worlds different for someone in the know. I took it, though, and the rest of the contents with it. A few silver, a couple of fairly nice gemstones, and a rolled-up parchment that later turned out to be significant for a local Blacksmith in Kargath. The dwarves were so busy looking around their stronghold for the murderer that I could almost have strolled out. Thus, they failed the third and final test, to keep me from getting away. Dwarves one, Vivir two, score one more match on the Darkspear side.

_As Vivir drifted off into what should be the last night needed to recover, his thoughts turned to one of the gems now residing in his packs, and the probable look of surprise and joy to be found on a certain shy girl when she found it in her mailbox. He smiled again, this time much warmer and much less mischevious, and let the pressing weight of the night take him for a time. After all, he'd do no less living and thinking in his dreams, for all that nobody else could participate there._


	2. Chapter 2

_Vivir was not used to this feeling. He'd lived his life on his own terms, and had never done what he did not want to._

It was all so stupid. The Orgrimmar Inn's bar was crowded as usual. Men of every race in the Horde, along with some women, were to be found laughing and drinking, playing at cards or dice. I had justcome in and went for a cup of cider before going out to the Cleft for supplies. This is where the drinking part finally reared its ugly head. An Orc, mind embittered by battle and tongue loosened by imported Halaani whiskey, noticed the tabard that I proudly wear and took offense.

_Very rarely had Vivir ever needed to defend honor, whether it be his own, his tribe's, or that of his family. This meant little to the situation, since he was still quite ready to do so._

"Shtupid troll... wearin' that tabard out in the open..."  
"Ah don' know why I should evah need ta hide it. It be a proud symbol of mah tribe."  
"The Darkshpear are the reason I'm shtuck here drinkin'. If it weren't fer your bloody tribe, the Crossroads wouldn't be a warzone.  
"Mah HOME be in da Crossroads, mon, and I know dat de Aliance would be attackin' whetha or not da Darkspeah was dere."  
"LIAR!" the orc yelled at me, the rest of the bar now quieting.

_There had been no time for preparation or subtlety. No plan nor dance nor poison. The Orc had jumped from his seat straight at Vivir._

It was a very short, very ugly little fight. In town for supplies, my blades were clean of the various poisons I use, and I had no time to apply them. I couldn't disable him by crippling his limbs, then. His fists had drummed my face twice before I could even leap back, though leap I did. the bar suddenly seemed much cleared than it had been, and I saw the orc bring forth his weapon, a greataxe of dire proportions. What could I do? I had to draw my weapons or forfeit my life, and I had too much living left to do to let him end it now. I tried to go for incapacitation, I really did, but the man knew how to fight as dirty as I did. He turned his head at JUST the right times to keep me from blinding him in two different ways, once by powder and once by blade. He flat-out ignored hard shots to places where a Human would have been crippled with agony. And still he attacked.

_Property had been destroyed, at least one bystander had been injured by the orc's wild swings, and Vivir was quickly coming to the cap of his endurance. Orcs were a tougher breed than most of the poor souls on the wrong end of his blade._

I had to end the fight. There was just no way I was going to be able to keep this up much longer, and I couldn't escape. Not when it meant that I'd leave a drunk and rampaging orc to destroy the place. The insults and implications had made me mad, as well, and my judgement was not as clear as it should have been. Time seemed to slow as I put my routine through on overdrive. The blades in my hands drew bloody sigils in the air as they bit into his limbs, one by one, until finally his neck was exposed. I took the shot, and the Orc, whose name I shall never know, would never drink or laugh or cry again. I ended him, and nobody mourned his passing.

_Remorse. That was the feeling. Knowing in your heart of hearts that the blood of someone who should have been a friend or an ally was now on your hands. This brand of guilt was not something he'd ever had to face before, and it was a fearsome foe. As always, his thoughts turned forward. Perhaps he should visit his family in the Crossroads. Ik'uh knows, it had been too long since last he'd seen them._


End file.
